Stripped
S T R I P P E D
S T R I P P E D
Tori St. Claire
HEAT | NEW YORK
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
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This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Copyright2 © 2012 by Valerie M. Hatfield.
Cover photography by Shutterstock.
Cover design by George Long.
Text design by Laura K. Corless.
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publishing history
Heat trade paperback edition / January 2012
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Claire, Tori St.
Stripped / Tori St. Claire. — Heat trade paperback ed.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-425-24677-1
1. Women intelligence officers—Fiction. 2. United States. Central Intelligence Agency—Fiction.
3. Undercover operations—Fiction. 4. Human trafficking—Fiction. 5. Stripteasers—Fiction.
6. Las Vegas (Nev.)—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3619.T235S77 2012
813.6—dc22
2011028165
printed in the united states of america
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To Yuriy. Though the dream was different, your lessons taught me how to rise above obstacles and believe in the gold. They will always be part of me. I love you, my friend.
Acknowledgments
To my agent, Jewelann Cone, and my editor, Leis Pederson: this book would not have been possible without either of you. Literally. The both of you made it all come together and gave me a dream come true by opening a door I didn’t even see. I don’t have words to express my gratitude.
To Alexis Walker, who gave me the courage to go where limits didn’t apply, thank you so much.
Alta Durrant, when everyone was buried under deadlines, yourself included, you pushed me to create, to see the story through. Your brainstorming sessions made this work, and your enthusiasm kept me going.
Dyann Love Barr, your belief in me helped me knock down barricades. You’ve been there through the best of times and the worst, and I value your friendship, your support, and your wisdom so very much. Thank you for everything. (And give Dennis a hug!)
Mom, thank you for the time you’ve invested and the sacrifices you’ve made. I love you very much.
Garrett and Pierce, thank you for your patience, your love, and the joy you bring to my life. You make my days brighter and my heart light, even when you’re bathing in the mud.
Matt, you encouraged me from the beginning and remain steadfast. I wouldn’t have embarked on this path without your support.
Jackie Bannon, from writing to nursing crying jags with margaritas, you’ve been there. Thank you so much.
Thank you, Linda Kage, for the time you put forth and the ideas you spurred, as well as your constant support and encouragement.
Cathy Morrison, Judy Ridgely, Goldie Edwards, Alicia Dean, Kimberly, and Diana Coyle, thank you for all the time you’ve dedicated to reading, commenting, and advising, both in this project and a multitude of others. I sincerely appreciate your insight and the time you’ve given me.
Jason, the support you give and the time you invest is priceless. You were willing to learn with me, to ask necessary questions, and whittle away at the Victorian. Thank you for being you, a man I respect, and a hero I admire.
They exist only in shadow. An elite team of deadly operatives created to satisfy increasing international threats. Their world is the dark underground, where sin and pleasure dominate and lies are second nature. To those who cross them, they are professional killers. Within the CIA, they are the rare Black Opals.…
Table of Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
Forty-Two
Forty-Three
About the Author
One
MOSCOW, RUSSIA
T
he woman Natalya Trubachev would escort to hell lay beneath a halo of murky light, trembling in fear. Her long blonde hair was clumped in an unruly mass of tangles around her slender shoulders. Her clothes were hardly decent, let alone useful covering against the cold cement floor. She shivered, proving the point. Natalya shivered with her. This part was the worst. Three years of soothing the women should have made her immune. At one time, she had been disconnected from them. But now, each pale face, each quivering lip, curled her stomach and left her questioning things she didn’t dare consider. Things like her purpose. The state of her soul. Like why she’d ever become a Black Opal, an elite, deadly, and highly undocumented CIA operative.
Beyond the reinforced square pane of glass, the blonde shivered again. She tucked her hands between her knees and curled her shoulders.
Natalya braced an open palm on the soundproof door and pushed it open. Soon you won’t remember. Well, she’d remember, but she wouldn’t care. Not once the barbiturates invaded the woman’s veins and she woke up in Dubai. By then, a prisoner to her tranquilized state, she’d already be d
ependent on daily heroin injections. She’d agree to anything as long as she got her fix.
Natalya dismissed unwelcome visions of that illicit place of sin and opulence and rolled a syringe against her palm. She’s just a job. One step closer. No different from any other job Natalya had performed in any other place under any other cover. Problem was, this one Natalya knew well. She knew them all. That’s why she was here. She gained their trust, used it against them, and led them straight to hell.
All for the sake of national security. Only nowadays, it felt more like for the sake of Dmitri Gavrikov’s sick pleasure than any act of protecting the United States. God, she had to get out of here. Had to get this job over with before she lost her mind and her ability to function as a Black Opal. Three years in one place was too long.
At the sound of Natalya’s heels against the hard floor, the blonde turned her head. Hope filled her wide blue eyes. “Natalya?” Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “Pomogite mne.”
Help me. Natalya tightened her fingers around the syringe she held. If only she could.
Blocking unwanted emotion, she found a confident smile. She walked with more purpose. Flawless Russian tumbled off her lips along with a light laugh. “Help you, Tatiana? Don’t be silly. There’s not a soul here who’d hurt you.”
Not here. No one would dare mar Tatiana’s porcelain skin with bruises. That would mean delivering damaged goods to Sheikh Amir in Dubai. Natalya refused to think about what would happen to Tatiana there. But the sheikh’s wealthy clients wouldn’t be at all pleased to find their treasures waiting in silk-clad beds and covered with purple welts.
She knelt at Tatiana’s side and helped her upright. “I’m sorry Alexei scared you. Didn’t he tell you I’d be back to keep you company before your big date?”
Tatiana wiped a dust-streaked hand across her cheek as she shook her head. “He said nothing.”
Rolling her eyes, Natalya let out another false laugh. “Men.” She gave Tatiana’s arm a gentle pinch. “Well, he was supposed to. Now I guess we’ll have to get you to a shower before the party starts. You can’t very well dance covered in dirt—even if you are taking off your clothes.” With a conspiratorial wink, she grinned.
A sigh of relief escaped Tatiana’s pale lips, and a hesitant smile drifted over her mouth. “I’m still entertaining the businessmen tonight? I’ll need something to wear.”
“Of course. I’ve got the perfect thing in mind. In a couple hours, they’ll walk out of here with their cocks harder than they’ve ever thought possible and their money stuffed in your thong.”
Tatiana wrinkled her nose with an amused giggle. “It’s how it always is, no? Show a bit of skin, twist your hips just so, and they eat out of your palm.”
Literally, as Natalya had witnessed from behind the stage at Dmitri’s many strip clubs throughout Moscow—where Tatiana and the other women had all come from. They were chosen for their exceptional beauty and their equally exceptional ability to seduce through dance.
She hoisted Tatiana to her feet. “Let’s get you cleaned up. We don’t have much time.”
Tatiana’s grateful gaze found Natalya’s. “Thank you. I was afraid you’d told me stories.”
Guilt punched Natalya in the gut. She forced her smile to widen over a threatening grimace. Following ingrained routine, she wrapped her arms around the woman’s dirty shoulders and gave Tatiana a hug.
As waif-thin arms slipped around Natalya’s waist to return the affectionate gesture, Natalya turned her wrist and pressed the needle into Tatiana’s jugular. As she pushed the barbiturate into her bloodstream, Tatiana jerked back. Cornflower blue eyes filled with shock. Pale pink lips parted with a question that would never escape. Then she slumped forward, her slight weight barely rocking Natalya.
With a heavy sigh, Natalya eased her onto the floor. She dropped the syringe and turned to the door, where Dmitri waited with a proud smile. In his hand, he held a box of chocolate-covered cherries.
Natalya startled. Dmitri wasn’t supposed to be back until tomorrow night.
He spread his arms in welcome. “Moya lyubov´.”
My love.
Natalya’s smile brightened as a shadow crossed over her soul, chilling her from the inside out. She hurried across the small space between them, accepted the box of candy, and threw herself into his arms. He clasped her against his hard chest. Broad palms slid up the back of her cashmere sweater. Warm, soft lips found hers, but though the stroke of his tongue was ardent, no heat crept into her veins. It never had. What he was, what he believed in, turned his handsome face and well-maintained body into a cold, lifeless statue. He was every bit as soulless too.
He dropped his hands to her waist and leaned back to look at her. His soft brown eyes sparkled with genuine affection. If Dmitri Gavrikov, merciless leader of the Solntsevskaya Bratva, had ever cared for anything, or anyone, it most assuredly was her.
He pushed her hair away from her face. “Did you miss me?”
“Yes.” She wriggled closer. “It’s miserable when you go away.”
“It was necessary.” He brushed his mouth against the top of her head as he caught her by the hand.
It always was. Someone needed to learn a lesson. A buyer demanded his time. A seller offered the right price on black-market arms. Dmitri always had a necessary reason for leaving. And in his wake, would always be a body. No one would ever find it, but someone forfeited their life when Dmitri’s meetings required more than an hour or two to complete.
This time he’d been gone almost a week. Tomorrow, she’d get a full report from her partner, Sergei. Maybe he’d had luck. Maybe he’d finally made the connection that would allow them to shut this whole ring down. The drugs, the arms…
Natalya glanced over her shoulder as Dmitri pulled the door shut on Tatiana’s unconscious form.
The human trafficking.
“I bring news, czarina.”
“Oh?” Natalya followed at his side while he led her down the hall to their bedroom. Inside, she set the chocolates on a marble-topped table.
“We’re going to marry in America. Las Vegas.” He released her hand and moved to the brass-embellished liquor cabinet. Glass tinkled as he pulled down two snifters along with his favorite Armagnac. Though his hands poured steadily, fury gave his voice a sharp edge. “The idiots who work for me can’t seem to keep from killing our precious American cargo. I need you to handle the girls—you do such a wonderful job here. The trail of bodies is causing Yakov problems.”
Natalya’s heart skipped a beat. Yakov. One of the contacts in America she couldn’t identify. His codename symbolized his duty—the one who took Dmitri’s place. He worked with Iskatel´, codename for the finder. Like she did with the girls in Moscow, Yakov and Iskatel´ hand-selected the best strippers Vegas had to offer and shipped them overseas to satisfy the appetites of powerful men hungry for a bit of classy, American pussy—or what they could delude themselves into believing was classy. Now Dmitri intended to send her right into Yakov’s nest? She stifled a smile.
“Must I leave?” Dipping her chin, she looked up through her eyelashes. “You’ve just returned.”
Dmitri turned with her glass extended in offering. His gaze roved appreciatively over her body. Desire sparked in his eyes. Dark and intense, his was a look meant to leave her wet and wanting. On any other woman it might have worked.
Boldly holding his gaze, Natalya accepted the oaken-flavored drink. “I hate the idea of another night alone.”
“Ah, czarina, I do not deserve you.” His hand settled on her hip, his thumb stroking the flesh beneath her sweater’s short hem. He lowered his voice to an intimate whisper. “Forgive me.” A sultry smile crossed his mouth. “Tonight I’ll make up for the time away. In two weeks, I’ll give you all I possess when I give you my name.” He tugged at her waist, urging her hips into his. Firm, hard arousal pressed against her abdomen. “You will forgive me, won’t you?”
Natalya teased with a slow roll of her hips
. “It might take some convincing.”
Chuckling, Dmitri released her. He nodded at her dresser. “Wear the green for me tonight?”
She hated the green. Maybe because he liked it too much. Maybe because it made her eyes stand out unnaturally and that drove Dmitri to abandon. Whatever the case, she hated the green. But for him, for her duty to her country and the hope that somehow, by sacrificing every last damn moral she possessed, those women would find freedom, she’d not refuse.
Leaning forward, she dusted her lips over his. “Tell me more while I undress.” Before his hand could catch and hold her close, she twisted out of his reach and went to the small table that held her jewelry box. She plucked off one gold hoop earring. “I’m to do the same things I do here? Befriend them and lead them to… ?” Who, Dmitri?
“To Yakov, yes.” The bed creaked as he reclined against the pillows.
Through the mirror, she watched as he stretched out his muscular legs and braced his arms behind his head. Damn. Yakov again. What the hell was the man’s name?
“Iskatel´ has already chosen the next girl.”
“Oh?” Natalya took off the matching earring and dropped both into the case. Reaching behind her, she pulled her pistol from the waist of her fitted skirt and laid it on the tabletop.
“Yes. You’ll be working at Fantasia, next door to the St. Petersburg casino. My contacts there are creating a position for you as we speak. Your first project is Katerina Slater.”
Natalya’s hand froze over the Sig’s matte black barrel. Her throat inched closed. She’d misheard him. Kate wasn’t stripping. She had a little boy to raise. She wouldn’t expose him to that kind of lifestyle.
Aware Dmitri watched through the mirror, Natalya forced a casual smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you, love.”